i'll find a way (to see you again)
by whyyesitscar
Summary: Helena has always been a chivalrous good samaritan OR the Bering and Wells "you lost your wallet so I went on an elaborate quest to give it back" AU. Written for the B&W Holiday Gift Exchange.


**A/N: I had more plans for this AU than made it into the story so perhaps I could be persuaded to continue. For now, it's a oneshot. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate and wishes of happiness for those who don't!**

* * *

"Claudia, darling, I'm afraid we must embark on an adventure."

Claudia looks up from her phone and takes an angry sip of her coffee. "Nooo," she drawls, foam decorating her top lip. "It's so warm in here and so cold outside."

"Even so, we have a task to undertake."

"What?" Claudia scowls.

You jiggle an overstuffed wallet in your hand. "Some poor soul is missing her wallet."

"Her?"

"I may have peeked at the identification already."

"She's hot, isn't she?"

"It's the right thing to do, Claudia."

"Oh great, she's hot." Claudia rolls her eyes and wraps her hands around her coffee mug in an exaggerated gesture. Unfortunately for her, you are obstinate to the core. You will not budge. "Why don't you just give it to the barista? I'm sure whoever lost it will come back for it later."

You snap your fingers and finish off the last of your tea. "The barista, what an excellent idea. I'm sure they'll know at least _something_ about this woman. They're bound to have regulars."

"And what makes you so sure this woman is a regular?"

"I have a hunch." You get up to go back to the counter and smile when Claudia reluctantly follows you.

The boy behind the counter is overrun with customers so you step back to let him deal with them before interrupting. You're not one made for such demanding service jobs but you can imagine how hectic they can be, particularly at this time of the year.

"Excuse me, Philip," you smile when the line finally clears. Claudia rolls her eyes again, though this is a more familiar one. She finds it ridiculous that you learn the names of every server who attends to you. Her disdain is half the reason you keep at it.

"What can I do for you?" Philip asks, managing half a smile.

You hold up the wallet again. "A woman left her wallet on the table my friend and I were sitting at. I wonder—"

"Oh jeez," Philip sighs, "I don't have the time to deal with some frantic lost and found ordeal today."

"No, no," you interrupt. "I'm sure you're busy enough with customers. I'd be more than happy to return it to her. I was just wondering you could point me in any direction." You pull out the driver's license—nearly expired; yet another reason for you to return it post haste—and hand it to him.

"Oh, sure," Philip nods. "She comes in pretty regularly but never drinks what she orders. I always figured she was getting a drink for a kid or something."

"A kid?"

"Yeah, it's always some sugary monstrosity. Well, a delicious sugary monstrosity, I should say," he winks. "She sometimes has a lab coat on; she might be a doctor."

"Are there any hospitals in the area?"

"Two, but I can't narrow it down more than that; sorry."

"No need to apologize, Philip; you've been more than helpful." You smile until he returns the favor, and genuinely.

You collect Claudia from your table, to which she has returned during your questioning. If you weren't so fond of her you'd be bothered by her impatience. "Oh, Claudia—"

"I really don't like hospitals, HG."

"Unfortunately, I am your ride home."

" _Really_ don't like them."

"When we return to the shop I'll take a look at that list of computer parts you say you so desperately need. Perhaps Christmas will come twice for you this year."

Claudia downs her coffee with a groan. "She better be super hot."

/

The first hospital is a bust, which you strangely find a relief. You're developing a picture of this woman, however misguided it may be, and that hospital wasn't good enough for her. You wonder where her medical specialty lays—cardiothoracic surgery, perhaps, or orthopedics. She seems a no-nonsense woman.

"Making wedding plans already?"

"I'm sorry?"

Claudia chuckles from the passenger seat. "You stare at that thing every chance you get," she says, pointing to the license still in your hand.

"I'm merely trying to construct an image of this woman."

"Why? We'll go in, give it to her, and go home lickety-split. Right?"

"That's one possibility."

"H.G., come on. Do you think she's gonna ask you out after you give it to her?"

"There are many possibilities, Claudia."

"Ugh, fine. But I need some lunch before we head into the next hospital. Maybe I can put myself into such a huge food coma that I won't remember anything about this weird-ass day."

"That's the spirit."

/

You know this hospital is the right one immediately upon entering. There is a kiosk near the service desk with which you can search her name. _Myka Bering, Psychiatry_ , the screen tells you. You raise an eyebrow, impressed. You've always been drawn to unpredictable women.

"She's a _shrink_?" Claudia blurts from beside you. "This is where I draw the line, H.G. I'm gonna go hang in the food court or something."

"Yes, alright," you reply absently. "I'll message you when I've found her."

"Text, H.G. You'll _text_ me."

"Disappear quickly, darling, or I'll be forced to drag you along."

"I was never here."

You smile as Claudia jets off to an elevator in another wing. You enter your own elevator, folding your hands behind your back as it takes you to the fifth floor.

The psychology department is calmer than anything in a hospital has a right to be. The walls are a light green and only a few people wait in the lobby. You wonder if they're all patients but know you'll never be able to properly guess. Those who require psychological help are too often very skilled at hiding it.

There is an attractive doctor talking to a receptionist, his muscles straining against what you assume is a lab coat just a size too small. A deliberate mistake, you're sure.

You feel his eyes on you as you approach the desk. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Dr. Bering," you say, making a conscious effort not to turn your head.

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asks. You've never heard someone sound so disinterested.

"I'm afraid not. I'm an old college friend of hers; I was in the area and just wanted to have a quick chat."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Bering is—"

"I can help you find her," the doctor next to you says.

You finally look at him, finding his boyish smile undeniably charming. On any other day you might have some fun with him, but not today. "That would be wonderful, Doctor…"

"Lattimer. But _you_ can call me Pete."

"That would be wonderful, Dr. Lattimer," you wink.

"So, why'd you end up at Colorado State?" he asks as you turn a corner.

"Sorry?"

"Colorado State. You said you were Myka's friend from college."

"Ah, yes. So I did. I meant medical school," you recover, or at least hope you do.

"Hopkins," he nods. "That makes a lot more sense. I mean, sort of. English schools too uppity for you?"

"Let's just say I preferred a change of scenery."

"So what's your specialty?"

"Botany, these days," you smile. "I gave up on medicine about a year into practicing and now I'm a florist."

"Really?" Dr. Lattimer frowns with his entire face; even his ears seem to droop. "Because you seem like the sort of person who would fit right in. How'd you score on your MCATs?"

"Six…hundred," you venture. By Dr. Lattimer's raised eyebrows, you're guessing it wasn't a successful one.

"You beat the highest possible score by seventy two points?"

"At least tell me I was convincing even for a little bit," you grimace.

Dr. Lattimer smiles wider than you were expecting. "Oh, I had you pegged as a fraud from the second you gave that excuse. But you'd have fooled anyone else."

"And yet you still so generously offered your assistance."

"Is the Petemeister gonna turn away a hot chick looking for help? Nooo, sir."

"How magnanimous of you."

"What do you need Mykes for anyway?"

You furrow your brows. "Mykes? Oh, yes. Dr. Bering left her wallet at the coffee shop this morning. I was hoping to return it to her."

"You could have mailed it to her."

"Well, I suppose—"

"You know her name which means you looked at her license which means you definitely know where she lives so you totally could have mailed it to her. But you came here instead, to give it to her in person, which means—" He gasps, his hands flying to his mouth. "You think she's smokin'."

"Dr. Lattimer."

"You want to date her."

"Dr. Lattimer."

"You want to smooch her."

" _Pete_ …"

"Wow, usually women have to know me for a lot longer before they say my name like that."

"I do hope you're not her boyfriend," you retort, narrowing your eyes.

"Why, would that stop you?"

"Yes, actually. But mostly I'd rather thought she had better taste."

"Hey now. Hold up there, sassypants." He extends an arm and actually stops you in the middle of the hallway. "Pete Lattimer is a classy snag for anyone."

"I'm sure," you smile. You like him in spite of yourself, and in spite of himself. "But right now I'm looking for your friend."

"Last I heard she was in a big budget meeting in one of the conference rooms. Take two rights; you can't miss 'em. You can sit in reception and if Sally gives you any trouble, you tell her Pete sent you. They love me over there."

"I have no doubt. Oh, Pete?" you call out as he walks away. "How much sugar do you take in your coffee?"

"As much as I can find, why?"

You smile and give a little wave. "Just wondering."

/

You decide to test out Pete's claim before trouble arises rather than after. Sally blushes and laughs when you mention his name and you shake your head as you sit down in a stiff waiting room chair. There are some men who are more charming than they have a right to be, and still you're glad you're not immune.

You can see Dr. Bering from the small strip of window in the conference room door, but there is only so much time you can marvel at the back of her head before your eyes begin to droop.

Suddenly, Sally is shaking you awake and a quick glance at your phone tells you it's far into the evening.

"Sorry Ms. Wells, the meeting ended about an hour ago. I guess no one told you; I only just got back from lunch."

"Do you have any idea where Dr. Bering might be?" you slur as you groggily reorient yourself to your surroundings.

"It's almost seven," Sally answers. "Dr. Bering usually makes herself another cup of tea in the staff lounge by her office."

"Wonderful." You stand up and run a hand through your hair, smoothing out any traces of your impromptu nap. "I was just thinking that this adventure needed yet another step."

You thank Sally and make your way back to the psychiatric wing. Only then do you remember Claudia. It's too much to hope that she's still waiting for you in the cafeteria, but you check your phone anyway.

 _Claudia [5:32 PM]: This is where I leave you, H.G. I'm grabbing a cab back home._

 _Claudia [5:34 PM]: And I think this warrants a third gadget._

 _Claudia [5:35 PM]: Have fun wooing your mystery lady. I ran a little Claudia-check on her—hot_ _ **and**_ _smart. You're doomed._

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. Claudia-check indeed—you have no doubt that search was anything less than intensive. Still, a generous protective streak is a fine price to pay for the closest friend you've had in years.

You slip past your favorite receptionist and make your way to the staff lounge before anyone can find you out. You open and close the door quickly, without looking at anyone else in the room.

"Uh, hi."

"Hello," you reply, turning around.

Her driver's license doesn't do her any sort of justice at all.

"If you're looking for the waiting room, it's actually down the hall and to your left."

"If I were looking for the waiting room, I'd be there already. So I suppose it's lucky I'm looking for you."

"For me?" Dr. Bering says, instantly becoming suspicious.

"Indeed, for you." You hold her wallet up. "And I believe you were looking for this."

Her eyes widen and she almost chokes on her sip of tea, pressing a steadying hand to her chest as she strides toward you. "Oh my gosh, _thank you_! I almost canceled all my cards this morning when I realized I'd lost it but Pete said he had a feeling it would turn up and he's usually right about these things—"

"Out of curiosity, when did Pete tell you he'd had a feeling?"

"Around nine, why?"

"I had a run-in with your friend; I thought he might have been taking credit for a feeling that was actually foreknowledge. But it seems he beat me to the punch by a few hours."

"Okay, well now I'm curious—how did you find me?" Dr. Bering flips through her wallet. "There's nothing in here that links me to the hospital."

"Must everyone question my motives?" you huff. "Perhaps one can do good simply for the thrill of it."

"For the thrill of doing good," Dr. Bering repeats, a smile working its way across her face.

"For the thrill of doing good and the promise of a grateful smile," you say, matching her grin. "If you must know, I did a little sleuthing before ending up here. With all of my stated intentions in mind, of course."

"Do you do this much sleuthing for every lost wallet you encounter?"

"Only when the owner of said wallet is so intriguing."

"And do you flatter them this much?"

"Definitely not."

"Because you're laying it on pretty thick."

"Well, I am trying very hard."

"You don't need to." Dr. Bering extends her hand. "Myka Bering, pleased to meet you."

"Helena Wells, and the pleasure is all mine."

"Helena Wells? Please tell me your middle name is—"

"It's George," you say, only rolling your eyes a little. "Yes, like the author. We're relatives somewhere down the line, though I've never bothered to have that verified. It is a wonderful conversation-starter, however."

"I think I'd like to put that to the test. Are you hungry?"

"That depends—are you feeding my body or my mind?"

"If it's a good night? Both."

"Then, Dr. Bering, I am ravenous."

/

(You spend many more nights in Myka's company.)


End file.
